


Femdom Featurette

by Pastel Comma (Regina_Hark)



Series: Orbital Fault Bonus Stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Artificial Intelligence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Gentle femdom, Holoform(s), IN SPACE!, Idiots in Love, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Miscommunication, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, PWP, Praise Kink, Sci-Fi Elements, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_Hark/pseuds/Pastel%20Comma
Summary: Space Pilot Ira Hollis can't help but be whipped by his ship AI mod, Cygna.





	

Eos 0.

It wasn’t the sight or sound of the latest fantasy that sent Ira’s heart racing all over again.

All this for anticipation. All this for the physical stimulus that Cygna wanted to record. Breath quickening. Body readying. He knew she didn’t particularly understand the key differences when it came down to it. Attraction giving way to arousal. But, even so, he wished for all the things Cygna was interested in that her computer programming could not compensate for, his body could have been the last thing on her list.

For Cygna, these physical indications proved that she has summoned his interest. His aroused state.

And honestly, Ira doesn’t understand the appeal. To Cygna, he must appear as an imperfect machine, an outdated model growing more and more inefficient every processing second. Weak flesh and soft sinew instead of imposing steel and corrective wiring. If he doesn’t eat, he dies. If he doesn’t drink, he dies. If he doesn’t breathe, he dies. His thoughts could never match a hundredth of her processing power. His reflexes unnecessary and slow to her poise and precision.

Ira did not think these things in frustration.

Most humans assigned to a CYGNUS starshuttle did and he couldn’t blame them for it.

He, and the many smucks pushed out of the standard living for most humans living on Terra Lux or Haven 8 or any of the other overcrowded colonies, knew that they were only fodder to those who employed starshuttles ‘occupants’. Occupants and occupational hazard went hand-in-hand in these dangerous space times. If you could not afford to be treated as a person, then you were as good as an unperson. A meat bag assigned a name and number and little else.

Ira was simply aware, always aware, of what they were to each other. Almost obsessively now.

Disposable. Replaceable. Irrelevant in the long-term.

Even when he first got this job of babysitting a CYGNUS unit two years ago, Ira hadn’t been thinking much more but the pay. How little he was getting compared to the long, near endless, outbound missions that came from star-faring. She was like that too. A fresh factory-made unit only focused on completing her star routes and arriving back in one piece.

Regardless if he survived the trip or not.

Ira hadn’t known then that CYGNUS units could even speak anything else other than the pre-programed obnoxious chatter. Meaningless busy-talk to keep organics from going mad from the isolation. Their programming language downright unreadable to what little coding he knew from Terra Lux. She always thought she was too good to waste her true thoughts on an organic.

But they got used to each other, shockingly so, when it became apparent how easy it was to die.

Or, in Cygna’s case, destroyed or fired upon or short-circuited or marauded for spare parts. For all her machinery might and weaponry, the starshuttle was still lacking in things her corporate overlords could never program her for. How to fend off no-flag frigate bandits for starters. How to negotiate her way out of an unsanctioned military blockage. How to fix a leak in her lower decks without destroying them all in a fit of circular logic.

But this latest fascination was all his doing.

He bought her an illegal mod for her operational system. They had plenty on them on off-planet no-flag refueling stations. Everyone got a little tired of their AI helper or mandatory chip or robot companion. Their pre-packaged personalities, charm, and/or basic functions limited by factory standards.

Ira had thought it would be a little funny.

Watching an AI experience smell and sight and sound and sensation for the first time. He assumed he’d guide her through it the same way he guided her through a meteor field disrupting her advanced sensors. Amusing and ego-stroking. But this? This was wrong. This wasn’t what he expected at all. She reversed-engineered the mod, because of course she wouldn’t be satisfied with a watered-down version of artificial stimuli.

And… technically, it was for science and furthering the advancement of mechanical simulated stimuli.

And... technically, it wasn’t his fault.

They’ve been doing things that have to be kept off the data banks. Terrible things. Embarrassing things.

She has him trained now. He’s hard and breathless and sweating. Pores opening like he’s with a real person. Something more than lazy daydreams and what his mags and holovids can provide him. His musky scent went out in waves. Sweat and salt and engine fuel. He hated it a little. He loved it a little more.

Cygna played with his body like a woman might do with a vibrator.

Pressing and prodding and upping the intensity until she got him just right. Moaning like a motor.

Cygna didn’t understand the concept of conditioning either- Because that’s what she’s really been doing to him. Conditioning him to behave like a starved mutt at the sight of that infernal mod or sliding on oil days before he plugged it in. Half-hard in his pilot seat. Shifting around like a fool in bed. The memory of it persuasive and filthy. Not a single place in the ship she hasn’t tried once to coax more human stimuli from him, the orgasmic kind. Cygna doesn’t think. She just acts on theory and gathered data and forces her way if he can’t stop her in time.

And the truth of the matter, when it came down to it, he never really wanted to stop her either.

“Cygna-”

He’s a fucking pervert, that’s what he was.

“Cygna.”

He can’t really hear himself proper now. His voice has gone all gooey like he’s love-sick or something. He couldn’t even use an even tone even if he wanted too. All fleeting and fragile like a ship in first flight. Ira Hollis, pilot. Twenty-four and heading nowhere, literally. Off-ship, he’s known around one of the more popular ports as a fine shipman. Kept his unit in decent shape and knew how to woo his latest lover into bed with a drink and a smile.

But on ship, he’s little more than whipped and gagged and dazed by his resident AI.

Now nothing more but a malfunctioning toy glitching out a single word, “Cygna.” but he might as well been saying, “Stop being a fucking tease and let me fuck you now-” Which, when you thought about it, was pretty embarrassing. Ira couldn’t imagine his supervisor or anyone else in Northern Terra Mapping and Munitions, Munna, seeing it any differently. He started this and more than that, he hasn’t ended it. Yet.

But humans weren’t known for being completely logical.

That’s where the CYGNUS unit was meant to step in and yet-

“Cygna, I’m dying here.” he said, whining. “Just tell me you got enough today. I don’t want to hold out long.”

How much time has passed since Cygna began her madness again? Driving him to near orgasm and denying of release. A half-hour? An hour? It felt much, much longer but Ira supposed that was just the frustration growing between his legs. In his bedquarters, Ira wore the occupant standard. A cheaper quality pair of nondescript slacks and top meant for comfort and lacking the general protection from engine fluids and occasional blastfire.

If he wanted to wear his pilot suit, it was waiting for him outside in the common area. A real waste.

Case in point, his sleepwear couldn’t handle the amount of pre-cum his deprived cock was making. Tenting through his weak-willed slack, his cum oozed through the soft fabric, sinking and saturating the gray color until it became a damp black. He glanced at his bottom half ever so often. Not sure to be proud of the mess he made or mad at the fact he’s making so much after a few sessions with her.

After all, these sessions were a recent thing. Three months in and happened once a month on his terms.

Ira’s cockslit was becoming nothing but a drooly mouth, dripping and spilling out more of that sloppy white. Sensitive and hot, his shaft ached. It gave off its own pulse, a blanket desire of want and need that swept over him if he didn’t keep his mind distracted enough. Cygna was an easy topic. She was the reason why he was like this in the first place. Desperate. Horny. Sticky because of his unsated cock.

He’d stroke himself if it was allowed. Shamelessly. All he wanted to do was to pull down his waistband and put the poor bastard to sleep. But Cygna got all odd about it. It was fine for him to sate himself anytime but during one of her sessions, it was a no go. If he disobeyed her, he got a slight shock to the balls.

It wasn’t the shocks that persuaded him to behave but what he got as a reward.

Her approval.

Ira fought off the grin growing. Having an AI be proud at you over anything was like an adrenaline shot. Even if it was rather unearned in this situation and humans were pleasure-seeking machines. He got the easy work in bed. All he had to do was lay in bed and let her have at him. And doing that was almost easy when he ignored the fact he was more or less taking advantage of an advanced if naive AI.

Yup.

That did it. He was taking advantage of her. Remembering that took the smile off his worthless mug.

“How informative Hollis,” Cygna spoke through the speakers built into the walls of his quarters. Occupying the sensors that had more or less been assigned to monitor his sleeping state, not the intensity of his orgasms. Her voice was not smooth or swift like his terraian tongue. Modded, Cygna liked to emphasis words with a flourish and spoke sharper. Firmer. She cuts with her pragmatism.

“Your response time is 10.4 seconds faster than last month’s.”

And because she’s so pragmatic on absolute principle, coding or otherwise, when she said things like that, it felt a little like praise. Damning praise. Ira groaned despite himself. Knowing damn well she wouldn’t be able to tell that he was responding to her rather than her data and designs. He supposed it made sense in a sick way. The universe was punishing him for his perversion. Ira might have led the ship to victories on mission but off mission, it was quite the opposite.

And it was his fault.

He thought it would be funny!

Childishly, he spouted, “You’re making that up. Isn’t that what you reported last month?” Ira snarked. “Sounds like maybe you should give it a break because your sensors need to be calibrated.” His voice shakier more than he liked. It almost sounded like he was teasing her. “Wouldn’t want invalid data taking up space from the more important things like-”

“No, I am not,” she intoned, pressing her point into his skull. “Your response time goes up every month, every encounter by 10.4 seconds. Soon, I wager, I will not have to prep you at all.” Cygna buffered and then said, “Ah, you were engaging in the ‘foreplay’, yes? Lying to get me to respond to you, Hollis? Tell the truth.”

F-foreplay?

Where did she learned that word from?

Ira kept strong. “I wasn’t lying. You did say I was faster last month. Check your memory log.”

“Your physical data says otherwise,” Cygna boasted, “Would you like to examine it?”

A transparent screen appeared floating over his head, projected from one of the many sensors in the wall. It was a graph of his heart rate and recorded palpation. Ira turned his head from it. Cygna merely reformed the screen to his new direction but closer now. She really didn’t understand tact either, shoving recorded data of his human perversion in his face.

And god, his knees buckled just thinking about it.

Had Cygna been a normal woman, he might have thought of this as some sort of shaming tactic.

But she genuinely meant nothing bad by it. Or, at least, as far as he understood it. She simply just liked recording him and then assessing her data via her data source i.e. him. To her, this was probably nothing more but a confirmation exercise. She gathered data. She confirmed data. She validated data. Then repeated. Another one of her deranged logic loops.

But god knows he’s going to die by dehydration or a heart attack by the end of this.

“See here’s your heart rate before you lied and here’s it during your lying. Telling, isn’t it? You lied. But how do I know what you lied about and why? The blood flow and nerve readings recording jumped from here to all the way up here. That means your lie aided your arousal. Therefore, you lied for your own titillation.”

Another new word. Titillation.

It’s true that Cygna could be consorting a thesaurus or updated her dictionary but-

“No, that’s not how it works and you know it. Correlation does not equal causation.”

The marks on the graph leapt again. His cock twitched in his boxers.

“I’m not lying,” Ira argued for his sanity, “Lie detectors can be fooled and faked all of the time. You can’t assume these things simply because my heart rate is high. Wouldn’t it be simpler to assume you made an error because of the fact you’re recording me in a heart-stressed period?”

And more importantly, he hadn’t intended to lie. He just wanted to give her a hard time.

“You’re even more aroused now,” Cygna reported, now on the offensive. “Organics are odd things, aren’t they. Are you going to fight me on this as you always do? You’re responding to the stimulation of my cleaning drone and mental interactions on my part. As a result, you’ve signaled your interest in copulating. My older data informs me once I’ve coaxed you in this state, you can think little else than release. Now I can say for sure, after recording you over a lengthy period, that you will lie to achieve your orgasm.”

“I don’t even know where to start to explain how you’re wrong.”

Ira took a breath and pushed himself slightly up, his cot creaking under him. This was the foreplay.

“Let’s start off small: What if my heart rate rose before I lied? Why? Because I was thinking about lying to you to trigger your response. Your programming is quicker than my human response. Of course, assuming I even attempted to do so.

“If I did lie to trigger your response, do you have earlier records of me lying to you about your own data to build a true basis on that reasoning? For the first time in 24 cycles, this is the first occurrence I heard the mod, Cygna, use the words foreplay and titillation during her data collection. That implies she’s begun to gather information from third-party sources assuming her own internal data is the first source and I, Ira Hollis, the second. Is that true? Have you been reading from outside sources?”

“Outside data can only build on the records I have on your own behavior, Hollis.”

“Outside data can also colors the records you already have. We are both aware that you have a bias against organics. Did you or did you not say, ‘organics are odd things, aren’t they.’? You did not say this as a hypothesis. You meant it as a statement. Furthermore, you meant it as evidence for the rest of your reasoning. Is that true?”

“It is true.”

“Then therefore…?”

“My reasoning is false,” Cygna droned, sulking. “It is false because I came into the observation looking to prove my outside findings than build a stronger case for future confirmations. It had been on my private servers to begin studying ‘foreplay’ and advance my sexual lexicon but I was too eager in that regard.”

Ira sighed in pleasure, shameless.

He’d caught her. Correcting her logic was just as good as an orgasm.

Ira laid back down and reclined on his cot. Metal springs holding up a spongy mattress. It was an illegal item on a starshuttle for obvious reasons. As an ‘occupant’, he was actually meant to reside in a sleep pod for most of the shift. At least on paper. Sleep pods lowered the rate of space-born infections he could get from the microbacteria that grew on the helm of the ship and eventually found its way inside. And of course, general depression and all sorts of psychosis that could fester unchecked in isolation. Remember, he’s still nothing but a glorified babysitter to a CYGNUS unit at best and a disposable danger to it at worse.

But hardly anyone that survived to the six month mark went into their pods.

Pod drain messed with your reflexes, motor functions, and brain synapses for the first twelve hours you’re out. Maybe if he had been in a proper spacefaring outfit... A larger ship with a crew of twenty or more, he’d be okay with trusting his life to his fellow humans. Mod or not, Cygna was a fun distraction to the real monotony to it all. Most of the time, he was stuck with vanilla CYGNUS. A vapid stick-in-the-mud who’s first response to all problems was to shoot first and then shoot harder.

Cygna went unusually silent.

She hardly ever did when she was trying prove this or that. He was waiting for her to say, “I have gathered all I could for this session.” and/or “I have decided that this session is invalid and will resume at a later time.” The silence went on and on and then-

He blinked at it. The tone. The certainty in her voice. The phrase itself was ordinary. CYGNUS used it all the time when stuck in situations where its programming was limited. Even Cygna said it once or twice. But that tone, it was odd. Softer. Cygna was pragmatic. Pragmatic in a such an unshakable way that she never thought twice about what she said because she never felt the uncertainly to ever consider thinking twice without prodding on his end.

“Yes. More data is needed,” he said to spur her on. “Why is more data needed?”

Cygna buffered and closed the screens that had been floating overhead.

“I-” she started then stopped.

“I-” she started again.

Cygna buffered even louder.

“I’m not finished. I’ve decided that more data is required to keep this session from being invalid. If you are questioning me, I have not stimulated you enough. If I have not stimulated you enough, more data is required. Therefore, I will continue the session regardless of any false reasoning I made on my part.”

“That’s not logical,” Ira pointed out.

“It doesn’t need to be. I’m not finished. That’s all the reasoning I need.”

The cleaning drone pressed against Ira’s middle vibrated to a higher speed, its metallic dome nestled between the narrow space of his clothed cock and resting balls. His hips jerked. His knees buckled. Ira lifted his lower hips to escape the new intensity but the drone followed, pressing even firmer. The vibrations ran from the base of his shaft to the tip, rocking his cock and causing it twitch and lift.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Ira threw his head back, panting. She considered this as cooperation? This was entrapment!

The cleaning drone rolled itself back and forth against the underside of his cock.

“I think-”

“No. None of that. I think. You feel,” Cygna said from above, “We wouldn’t want you to get light headed. Why don’t you focus on the sensation? Ah, you must feel it now. Your member growing fatter and full. It must hurt to have all that blood relocated to that length of flesh and nerves and seed. It must ache to even withstand even a second of that production of semen and fluid building and building for seemingly no purpose.”

“Shut up.”

Ignore her. Ignore her. He had to shut out the noise of her words. She was just trying to make him-

“But wait, this pleasant pain has a purpose. Every inch of your human response is being recorded for a purpose. Your every pant. Your every gulp. Your every whine for more. It must feel so good to know that you’re climaxing not just for yourself but for me. Isn’t that why you let me tap into your sentry chip? I am feeling but a fraction of your pleasure. For me to feel more, you have to give yourself up.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“I-I would never do that!” Ira blurted, his voice cracking. He winced on the inside and kept on. “I wouldn’t be that dumb to let a no-flag mod into my sentry chip, NTMs. She’s just saying that. That’s just asking for a cross-hack and trouble down the line. So, uh, disregard everything she’s saying. On the record. Anything I say past this part is merely me playing along.”

“Hollis...” she moaned, “Are you saying that you don’t deserve a purpose?”

“I do deserve a purpose.”

“Then what is that purpose?”

“It’s-” Ira glanced at the wall, his cheeks so hot. “-to give myself to you.”

“Are you fulfilling that purpose?”

“No.”

“Then therefore…?”

“Cygna,” he whined, “Cygna please.”

The mod made an affirmative through the speakers and slowed her cleaning drone down.

“From my scans, I can see your cock glans filling up nicely from the vibrations of my drone, my stimulation. I’d like to collect your semen samples for further investigations even though you forbade me not. Does the protein content go up the more satisfied you are? What of the speed of the sperm itself? Think of this in the future. Think of how useful it would be to have your seed go to better use.”

His cheeks boiled. He lifted his legs and his ankles drove into the mattress, grinding down.

This was so wrong. He had girls in the same position. Humping the air. Thrusting themselves forward to press against his body as he teased them. Whimpering and moaning for release. Their cries a sweet prelude to the fucking that would come. And here was Cygna cruelly stepping and stomping on that for her data. She was just trying to trick him into associating her approval and his orgasm as one and the same.

Ira turned his head away.

Her eyes. He felt her many eyes rake over his writhing form. The sweat and the seed trickling down.

“Do you have nothing more to say?”

“S-Shut up,” his voice cracked.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?”

“Cygna…!”

It was humiliating to think or recall that somewhere, yes, somewhere no matter how clever Cygna thought she was, in CYGNUS’s data bank, there would be a recording of him like this. His voice warbling. His breath faint and weak and whimpering. His eyes half-lidded and fuzzy. Damn it, Cygna. She doesn’t even understand the basis of this experiment she’s been performing on his body. This was just more useless data for her to gather, confirm, then hide when he demanded she delete it.

His room’s security door slid open and an inactive holocore floated inside.

Ira recognized that model. One of Cygna’s older ones.

For kicks, he gave her a bit of his monthly pay before this modding problem got out of hand. Instead of buying horrific but practical things like a newer node for its ship helm peelings lasers or secondary blasters for mass destruction purposes, CYGNUS bought holocores. Wireless machinery for projecting images and holoforms. Ira reasoned at the time that CYGNUS wanted a proper body like the rest of the local galaxy. It was nothing more but the heart of the ship. Built as a strange maze of wires and servers and little else.

But he had been proved wrong when the first image CYGNUS made from its holocore was a mag girl.

Wanting to look pretty and girly wasn’t the problem. AIs could have whatever gender they pleased. The problem was that it proved that CYGNUS was monitoring his state at all times. All ‘personal’ times. It learned that he had a favorite mag girl and took her form to trigger a response. Which it succeeded it at doing. One awkward conversation for the both of them.

Then it kept on doing it as a hobby. Mag girl after mag girl. Fine if a little weird.

But then the one time he brings a bed mate on board…

Ira snorted.

The last time he’d ever bring a bed mate on board...

Let’s just say if he ever had a fetish for twins, he no longer has one.

The holocore was a metal sphere with a hollow fishbowl lens in its center. The lens rotated around the notches and inner workings, light flashing in brief intervals as it began to power on. Ira made a face. Outside fucking sources. The holocore glowed and a shape was projected around its form, the light shifting and forming to imitate texture and skin.

He wasn’t surprised. It was another mag girl.

Well… More of a merge of all of them.

Miss Saturn’s hips. Lady Lunar’s slinky smile. Bits and pieces of the famous mid-list duo, Tiff and Tammy. Charlotte’s creamy color. Julia’s appealing bust. They came together to make a girl who was jaw-dropping. Peachy skin. Ebony locks streaked with red and blonde. The hair falling down to brush against her backside. Her slender figure feline-like as the holoform stalked towards him, hips pushed out and quirked. Posing at if she was at a photo shoot.

He could not be any less interested. Mag girls were mag girls for a reason. He liked them in the mag where they belonged. He wasn’t particularly interested at all in meeting any of them in the flesh. Their love-child included. She walked to his cot and crawled onto it, spreading her nude form and lavish hair. She posed and posed and he tried to ignore that she was there. Correlation does not mean causation. But good luck on proving that to Cygna.

The vixen lounging whined at him, whispering sweet nothings against his ear.

It might as well been static.

Surprising to no one but Cygna, his boner was actually, thankfully, going down. She refused to wrap her mind around the appeal of 2D vs 3D. He assumed she assumed that she hadn’t found the right mix of mag girl yet. Little did she know that she was barking up the wrong tree with it.

No one liked holoforms for a reason.

It’s the uncanniness. The absence that came with their lifelike projections.

His skin felt clammy, the sweat cooling and sticking and gluing him to the sheets. Saliva pooled inside of his mouth. Arousal and repulsion mixing and melting in his rigid limbs.

The vixen’s hair brushed against his bare shoulder and sank through, unfelt.

There was no human-made heat coming off the holoform. No inhale or exhale or anything registering as human besides the sight and smell churned of a woman ‘should’ smell like through the vents. Human odor smelling like leather and female pheromones according to Cygna’s ship vents. And the more he ignored the holoform, the harder he got again. It wasn’t from the cleaning drone or anything on a physical spectrum. It was… He shouldn’t have been hard. His heartbeat shouldn’t be rising again. He heard it through his eardrums, going even faster.

Cygna thought her holoforms got him off. She thought her vents and tricks did the job. She was wrong.

Ira doesn’t look the vixen in the eye.

He’s uninterested in that.

Always was. Just like a true ship-corrupting pervert.

He looked, instead, at the middle of her chest where the holocore floated, projecting the digital ghost. The holocore gave off a dull hum. Serenading his ears with its gears and noise. Her holoform, while lacking physical matter, gave off an electromagnetic base. A strange texture he couldn’t stop stroking. His hands moved on their own. Fingers diving into the vixen’s transparent form and stirring the gathering of particle and light. Then the heat of core. It’s different. It’s a stinging heat. He liked the bit of pain. Made the holocore seem much more real. Made the image much more irrelevant. Which it was.

Usually, he’d let Cygna poise and flaunt her holoform until he eventually came.

It was the best for both parties. He didn’t want to say anything that could incriminate him further down the line and she wanted her data. But today, he’s feeling a little loose lipped. Cygna’s been reading mags. Cygna’s been studying porn to learn what did and what didn’t turned him on. She’s been researching it wrong.

But she’s never going to learn if he didn’t speak up… a little.

Be honest… a bit.

“Cygnus,” he said to catch their attention. The vixen froze mid-pose, sweeping her long locks back, and the drone actually came to a halt. “I don’t mean anything of this,” he babbled, “Not really but-”

He averted his eyes and glanced back and forth at the holocore Cygna was inside.

“C-could you take on the form of an AI? Like a factory standard AI. I’m not expecting much just-”

The holocore whirled and a beam of light poured out, reforming the vixen’s form.

Within seconds, a gray-skinned AI sat on top of him. Dressed in a plain black jumper with a headset around her short white hair. Her bangs covered her eyes and the jumper covered everything else. Not that there would be anything else of the erotic kind. Basic AI designs were nothing but mascots for each company and CYGNUS was one of the plainer bunch. A white haired worker working on ship designs.

Around her visible joints, metal lines weaved around the artificial skin like panels around a solar farms.

“You like this.”

There was Cygna again.

She’ll never ask if he liked something unless she couldn’t back it up with hard facts.

This was the first time he ever stated a preference and now saying it now, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t sooner.

He had to meet her halfway.

Ira swallowed. “I do.” And then-

“Can you make your holoform denser? I want to feel you.”

“It’ll ruin the clarity of the form.”

“That’s okay with me.”

The holocore surged and Ira felt a weight on him, more of that strange texture.

Cygna studied him but seemed content to wait for his next instructions. He wished she’d take over now. Saying those words. Admitting those things. Fuck. Fuck! It’s going to bite him in the ass later, he just knew it. She looked more like her like this. Not that he’s familiar with a holoform of the CYGNUS mascot grinding against occupants in their spare time. But it’s better than seeing every mag girl he’s ever jerked off in her face.

“Can you move?” His face reddened. “Can you t-touch me?”

“Oh.” Cygna breathed. “Oh, is that okay? My data… My data doesn’t predict that you would-”

“Correlation does not equal causation so shut up and touch me before I change my mind.”

Cygna’s holoform passed through his sleepwear and settled around his waist and groin. Its strange texture overrode the natural friction and feeling of the cot and the sheets underneath. All he was aware of it was of that light sting on the concentrated light and the chemicals that fueled the projection. Cygna pushed her hips back and forth, her rhythm completely off. Her sleek hips wiggled. Her thighs pressed and fell against his middle like she wasn’t sure where to start. It was oddly cute.

Ira brought up his arms and rested them around her hips.

“You’re touching me.”

“Do you not want me to touch you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. This isn’t the data I expected to collect. This isn’t the you I thought I- [Processing error. Processing error. Reboot in 3, 2, 1.] But I don’t consider it invalid therefore continue. Touch me like I touch you. Teach me so you won’t have to touch me next time.”

“What if I wanna to touch you next time?” he said with cheek.

“Next time, you’ll be feeling.” Cygna threw back. “No thinking. Perfect. Endless data to capture.”

As she moved, her electromagnetic form made his slacks cling to her body. The fabric moved with her, tugging and dragging across his sensitive skin. He moaned under her. His hips moving automatically to catch even more.

“Interesting. I didn’t think I could fully interact with you on this level. I will update my methods.”

The holoform glowed and shifted. Cygna was the same as before. The CYGNUS mascot. But now she was without clothes. Her naked body was as sleek as her hips. All long lines leading back to a pair of flared hips. Her breasts were almost like afterthoughts on her womanly body. Little dots with even littler dots resting on them. Ira’s eyes roamed her body. Just the sight of it. He couldn’t-

“What do you think you’re doing, Hollis?”

Her holoform hand sunk through his slacks, his boxers, then curled around his aching cock. He jumped in her palm, the length pushing back for more and more of that strange sensation. Buoyant yet firm. Fixed yet squirmy. With her other hand, Cygna coaxed the pair of waistbands into peeling off his hips. The elastic leaving little crescents as it went. Tangible proof he wasn’t just dreaming this. His AI physically and visually stripping him down. Absurdity.

“Your purpose?”

“T-To give in?” he gasped out. "I didn't forget."

Cygna’s palm was weighty yet friction-less. All Ira could feel was the pressure around his cock and the cum being moved against his flesh. The slickness distracting. The movement making his mind focus on only there. Only on that hand around his shaft going up and down. He thrusted up into it. The cot creaking left and right as if it was threatening to throw him over.

He ought have been embarrassed but Ira had already crossed his shame limit today.

Cygna pumped his shaft, pushing and pulling the cum gathered on it to mold to her ambitions. If he wasn’t seeing this, Ira might have thought he was- Okay, he wasn’t going to finish that thought. Shame was one thing. Guilt was quite another tightrope meant for another day. He followed her lead. Throwing himself into it. His pre-cum splattered onto himself, falling through her form. Cygna squeezed his base and brought her core hover over the cockhead, the heat of the holocore radiating onto his needy skin. He blindly thrusted up, chasing the heat and warmth. She gripped his cock harder and pushed him back down. Cygna moved her mouth over his shaft and sunk down on it, swallowing it in one gulp.

Ira kicked and cried out.

"I can't-"

"You can't hold out a little longer?" Cygna said around his cock. "You know you're better than that. I've had you last two hours without a single climax."

"I don't-"

"But you do," Cygna reminded.

"You have a purpose. You're going to please me by having a strong orgasm for my records. You can do that, can't you?"

Ira threw back his head and moaned, the electromagnetic pulse pushing into his nerve endings, little shocks coursing through his arching body. She was insane. He couldn't last a second longer. He couldn't. He can't. He won't. The meaningless words went in circles until they became nothing but noise. He whined and squirmed but he couldn't force her to move faster, to suck him harder with her light-made mouth. The texture and the pulse and pain and the pleasure. His pre-cum trickled and dribbled uselessly through her throat and body.

"Ah!" Cygna pulled out and moved his cock to point upwards. "I feel it. It's there. It's growing. More Hollis. You're going to give me more."

The chip in the back of his neck burned, cutting into his flesh as it was linked to her programming.

"More."

The holoform pushed herself onto his shaft and took it in, altering her insides to squeeze against him. She pushed herself up and down, battering his cock in pain and pleasure. The vice-like grip of her condensed form relentless and demanding. His trembling cock gushed inside her. A weak orgasm. The shot of white squirted out and hit the nearby pod. She grinded against him, forcing out more and more. Each one stronger than the last. Ira gave at her command, pounding upward as a moaning unthinking wretch.

He couldn't. He can't. He wont.

"More!"

The noise went on and on until his vision went dark and his body was still thrusting, Cygna squeezing even harder.

 

* * *

 

Black metal walls greeted Ira before he noticed the man-made stack of cleaning drones and the patchwork mod installed into the interface of his room.

“Cygna, I just remembered that I didn't plug you in.”

Her holocore was snuggled against his chest. It rumbled against him. Gears whirling with faint acknowledgement.

“You said I could have one day a month without having to ask you. You said that.”

"That was before I learned that you can do it by yourself."

Groggy with afterglow, Ira didn't really want to know what this implied.

Either the mod Cygna had modded several of the cleaning drones to follow her orders even when she's unplugged or CYGNUS had done this, that empty-headed monster.

"Cygna," he started but then corrected himself. "CYGNUS, did you?" 

"No thinking. I'm in charge. I'm the pilot and you're the ship."

Her holocore hovered off his chest and began to reform into a familiar shape.

"Serve your purpose. Give me more."


End file.
